Category Archives: Friendship

If my body has a trillion cells I was losing a thousand of them per second.

I called a friend. I walked as I talked, describing to him what was happening (or not), trying to find words in a brain that had been through this same identical experience only a week before but which I had shared with no one, not even after the fact.

“Am I dying John?”

“What does it feel like, Lee?”

One word seemed to fit, the word was “darkness” but it described a feeling – not a dimming departure of recently improved eyesight but a farewell to the welfare, which Life and Love may offer.

Inside me, throughout all of me, I was dark meat and I was growing darker.

The friend I had called was Jiggs’ Boy, John; we (mostly “I”) continued to talk.

“Will I live through this night?” I asked.

“Did I have a stroke?” I wondered.

“A heart-attack?” Perhaps.

“Did the darkness imply evil?” voiced “Little Lee”.

“Will I go to Hell?” I asked The Rest Of Me?

Talking and walking lifted my spirit and repaired the rheostat of the light within – my dying cells began a welcome revival.

I felt a Spiritual Presence and asked for a safe place for whatever was left of that which I think of as “Me” after this apparent departure from the material world had completed its metamorphosis and I wondered if my theories about God were correct.

Is The Creator of all things The Source of Love or the source of fear? Am I about to become a pillar of salt?

“Do you want me to come over?”

“I’m afraid I’m dying, John.”

“Do you want me to come over and watch you die?”

I laughed. Jiggs’ boy chuckled.

Note: This page from my diary will be in a forthcoming book,
WHAT A LOVELY SPRING DAY.

I know of no example in humanity against which one can be compared in order to determine how much one has grown, or to set goals outlining a plan to determine how much one can or should grow.

The habit of saying to one another “Hey, you are really getting better” sounds encouraging but in fact, is very judgmental. The affirmation to seek progress rather than perfection is self-deluding. That kind of thinking prevents us from accepting one another for who we are.

When in the presence of one who has just been applauded for a contribution of one sort or another benefitting those of us slapping the palms of our hands together, shall we offer expressions of “Hurrah”, “Ole!”, “Bravo” or “Good job!”?

Perhaps a simple “Thank you” would be a sign that we are all “getting better”.

A friend of mine has a friend named Rocky. Rocky’s a biped; Rocky’s a duck. My friend is a biped named Mary; Mary is not a duck.

Mary enjoys scooting along the canals in Phoenix, Arizona; she enjoys the scoot, the fresh air and the opportunity to acquire a clear head.

And she likes ducks.

I’m not sure if she has always liked ducks. I’m curious you see because I too like ducks. Chickens are okay. I ‘ve known some chickens in my life but chickens aren’t as smart as ducks and who would ever think to name a chicken Donald or Huey, Dewey or Louie; and Rocky? No chicken could ever get along with the other chickens with a name like Rocky.

When Mary met Rocky I suspect it was rather one sided. Actually (if I got the story right), Rocky was a duckling at the time and he must have stood out from the others; at least I don’t remember Mary talking about Rocky’s diblings (that’s duck for duck sibling) by mentioning Darlene or Joey, if ya know what I mean.

I’ve asked Mary repeat the story a coupla times which she gladly does; she even gives me updates from time to time so I’m surely getting most of this right.

I don’t know where she spotted Rocky but my brain has filled that in for me and In my mind’s eye I can very clearly see Mom and the kids waddling down the canal under the cottonwoods near 56th and Indian School Rd. So there.

I think that Mary must have stopped to linger for a few minutes for she clearly fell head over heels in love with the duckies (you should see her eyes light up when she tells the story). She may not have been a duck lover before the incident but Mary is now a duck lover for life.

When Mary gets to that part of the story where Rocky is missing, that light in her eyes becomes a flash of lightning. I think the way she tells it is that on the second visit Mom was there and perhaps one of the kids but there was no Rocky.

Mary looked up and down the canal for a while, jogging this way and that and finally with a pout and a wrinkled brow returned to her living room and pondered the possibilities of a missing Rocky.

Mary is a very determined lady which is probably what drew her to Rocky in the first place for you see, she did not talk about Rocky as though she was a Mother Duck – after all Rocky had a mom. No, Mary’s eyes spoke of Rocky kinda like a brother, yeah that’s it; Rocky was a brother duck and Mary in the telling comes alive again when letting me know that Rocky was back on the third day.

She reported nothing else about brother Rock tha I can recall, just that Rocky was alive and well and back with Mom and his diblings.

I think that must have been a year or so ago that these compelling events became such an attractive story; When I saw Mary on Sunday she brought me up to date; Rocky is a daddy Duck now and has ducklings of his own, One looks exactly like Rocky. The rest are decidedly Mom.